


Get in Losers, We're Going Camping

by DeathServedWine



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Arguing, Camping, Comedy, Explicit Language, F/M, Friendship, Humor, M/M, Romance, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-26 17:24:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3858742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathServedWine/pseuds/DeathServedWine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Solas and Lavellan seem to be inseparable these days. Solas and Lavellan running through the forest, Solas and Lavellan talking about the Fade, Solas and Lavellan jumping from the second floor. Oh wait—that’s just Lavellan. But that’s exactly the problem. Solas’s company is only ever Lavellan. Well, not for long if she has anything to say about it. </p><p>But then again, maybe forcing spiteful companions into a tent in the middle of the forest isn’t the best idea. </p><p>Oh, who are we kidding? Of course it is!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Easy Tell

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. So. Am I the only one who doesn’t want to remember Solas as that guy who ripped my heart out? Yeah? Just me again? (Sighs internally) 
> 
> But seriously. I love Solas and his wizened, bald, comfy sweater self. I don’t need sexy, cocky Fen’Harel to sweep me off my feet (but I’ll admit the idea is ridiculously hot). I also don’t need to get revenge or cry my eyes out for the umpteenth time. I just want Solas and the happier days. 
> 
> Anyway, here are some things you WON'T find in this story:  
> 1\. Solas Angst  
> 2\. Dread Wolf Reveals OR Meta (i.e., “Dread Wolf take me!” Yeah, it was funny once. Oncccceee.)  
> 3\. Past!Fen’Harel  
> 4\. FUN HAHAHAHA—Wait. No. We actually have this.  
> 5\. FIRST. NAMES. “Anthiselayatica…? Who the f—”  
> 6\. A Specified Inquisitor Class/Personality. I kept that out so you could imagine your Lavellan over this. This Lavellan is a blank slate so you can get your fix. That's why we're all here, isn't it?

Skyhold. The birthplace and home of the Inquisition. Standing as a beacon of hope and strength to the masses. It is here we find the heroine of story, Inquisitor Lavellan, sitting crisscrossed on the floor with a large tome splayed across her lap. Solas’s desk towered over her lithe figure while its owner splashed color upon the wall. As she quickly mused through each musty page, the soft roar of shuffling paper floated about the rotunda. The creaking wood of the floors above groaned with each walking step as the hollowed structure echoed with the distant cries of the caged crows. With every newcomer, bustling chatter poured in before fading into the beyond, a ghost of its former self. However, as voluminous and diverse as this ambience was, it wasn’t these noises that caused the swift and precise strokes of a nearby artist to come to a halt. It was the small, wistful sigh that escaped through parted lips that spurred him from his course. Setting his tools aside, the elven man turned toward the hunched form squatting on the floor.

“Is there something troubling you?” He asked knowingly.

The unexpected change in atmosphere startled Lavellan, which was especially evident as her shoulders flinched noticeably. Disoriented by the sudden departure from the text before her, Lavellan’s eyes reflected both confusion and surprise like a student called upon by a teacher. After surveying the room in quick flicks, she found only an amused Solas peering down at her.

Laughing at her foolishness, she apologized, “Sorry, I was... a bit caught up in my reading.”

“So I noticed,” he smiled. “But perhaps you’d wish to discuss the subject you’re studying?”

Lavellan’s eyes always lit up instantly at the notion of gaining more knowledge, so it was particularly concerning when barely a flicker ignited.

“Not really,” she mumbled unconvincingly.

Solas raised an eyebrow in response, urging her to continue.

Sensing this, she tried again, “I mean, it’s really nothing. Just some, you know, _human_ thing.”

Solas leaned against his desk and tilted his head to the side thoughtfully. “Forgive me if I’m mistaken, but is that not an elven tome from my own collection?”

As he reached for the book, Lavellan used her legs to propel herself backwards, her body slowed by too much friction to acquire the speed and distance necessary for the daring escape she so desperately desired. An awkward and well-timed wind blew between them as a nearby door opened and shut.

Quick to grasp the implications of her behavioral faux-pas, Lavellan released a nervous chuckle. She was _obviously_ an expert in the art of deception, and so she called upon her lingual powers to eloquently dissuade his suspicions, “What? _No_! This is… this is one of Dorian’s. You probably wouldn’t be interested.”

From above a voice dripping with ridicule tut, “Ah, yes, ‘1,001 Uses for Phalluses’. A truly _riveting_ read. I’d been wondering where I put that.”

“Dorian!” Lavellan hissed in mortification and disbelief.

Solas nodded smugly as he pressed his hand against his chin as if considering this and said, “Ah. I see. Carry on then.”

Snatching the book up in her arms and scrambling towards her fellow elf, Lavellan confessed, “Okay, fine, it _is_ one of yours. I just—”

Searching his eyes, she found them laughing despite his otherwise stoic expression. Sighing in defeat, she surrendered the aged piece of literature and explained, “I was just daydreaming. I’ve probably read the same sentence a dozen times by now.”

As the large, weathered tome passed hands, Solas briefly studied her slender fingers affectionately. It never failed to surprise him how even the smallest parts of her demanded his attention.

But this was no time for romance, as disappointing as that was. Solas questioned, “Oh? And here I was wondering what could dominate your focus. What’s on your mind?”

“You,” she stated softly, but sincerely.

Blinking, Solas set the book on the desk beside him and waited for her to continue. The grating of the wooden floorboards and scaffold more audible in the silence.

She shifted her legs and explained, “And me. And well, everyone I suppose.”

“Terribly sorry, I’m afraid I’m just not ready for that level of commitment,” retorted the snarky mage as he leaned over the railing.

Lavellan scoffed incredulously, “Dorian, at this point I might as well just offer you a seat so you don't strain yourself listening.”

Dorian replied with as much sarcasm as he could muster, “You know, you’d be surprised at how quiet it is in a _library_. Counterintuitive, I know, but there it is.”

Shaking her head and placing her hands on her hips, the young leader huffed a hefty sigh. Honestly, was privacy too much to ask for? Returning to the main topic, she uttered, “Anyway, I couldn’t help but notice your absence at Wicked Grace the other day and—”

“Ah, forgive me if I seemed uninterested. There was much I had to study,” Solas clarified.

“No—I mean yes, I understand, that’s perfectly fine,” Lavellan replied, “But you weren’t the only one who didn’t show up. It made me think about how distanced we all are from each other.”

Solas hummed, comprehension settling on his face. The group was rather independent, each refusing to meddle in the others' affairs lest the situation require it. Their interactions were essentially few and far between without some catalyst to initiate the process. “I see. We are a rather _unique_ collection of people. It would certainly follow that some relationships would be unlikely to develop.”

As if mulling this over, Lavellan folded her arms and peered down at her feet, the smooth stone imperceptible beneath the soles of her boots. It was still a somewhat foreign sensation for her to conceal her toes, though she supposed she should be grateful considering the ever looming risk of frostbite courtesy of the frigid mountain air. Sometimes changes, though peculiar, had benefits.

As she studied the floor, Solas studied her expression. Her eyes shifting back and forth, the slight crease in her brow folding parts of her vallaslin upon itself, and the barely visible pout gracing her lips all spun tales of concern, uncertainty, and potential disagreement. And that was without even considering what the rest of her body was doing.

“Vhenan,” he called in an attempt to refocus, “You appear unconvinced.”

Meeting his eyes, the girl smiled warmly, melting away the harsher features that once enshrouded her face. She assured, “You’ve raised a fair point. I want to consider it a bit more.”

Grazing her fingers across his cheek, her eyes briefly searched his before hiding beneath her long, thick lashes. Without warning, her lips came crashing onto his, but this time, before he could capture her and return the favor tenfold, she flew away to safety.

“I’ll see you later, Solas.” She mused through the doorway before spinning on her heel and waltzing into the throne room.

Solas smirked and shook his head at the successful escape while moving toward the incomplete mural before him. However, it was in that instant he caught sight of the book in which she had so seemingly been unabsorbed. Opening it, he found that it fell naturally to the last page viewed, a testament to the amount of force placed on its spine by its previous holder. The page in question was dedicated to socialization among the Dalish, specifically in regards to the kinship that pervades the clans. Surprised, Solas returned his gaze to door thoughtfully as he gently cradled the tome—and by extension Lavellan’s feelings—in his hands.

 

* * *

 

Quite some time had passed since the Inquisitor’s last leisurely visit. Sure, the two of them had gone off gallivanting with the others on several occasions to collect information or obliterate their foes. And sure, she had certainly ventured into his quarters with a quick greeting here and there. But prolonged, intimate contact? That had been remarkably scarce.

While Solas suspected the deviation in her behavior was a direct result of their previous conversation, he couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to it than the sudden nostalgia for her clan. It was clear that she yearned to replicate that strong, familial bond between her companions, but her actions had simply been inconsistent with that desire. After all, she had returned to routine. Was she, then, attempting to sweep it under the rug? Suppressing desires was a sentiment with which he was all too familiar. Perhaps he could discuss some coping mechanisms with her to ensure she—

“Solas!” A thunderous voice rang before him as a door slammed shut, both of their echoes reverberating to the dark, dismal rafters.

The elf glanced up instantly to discover the subject of his reveries striding towards him with renewed vigor. Her pristine armor swaying and clinking with the motions of her body.

_Ah. Another formal request then._

“Vhenan,” he stated, “good morning.”

She smiled brightly, “Good morning! Want to go frolic in the Emerald Graves?”

Solas leaned forward in his chair, rose, and tugged on the sleeves of his sweater. He answered, “Of course. How soon will we be leaving?”

“Half an hour? Sooner, if possible. I know it’s short notice.” Her restlessness was so visible, she was practically bouncing.

“Not at all,” he assured her.

She seemed excited to hear his unconditional acceptance as she responded in tow by bounding up the stairs, her hurried steps clicking as heels met stone. As Solas gathered his gear, he listened to the object of his affection prattle on with another invitation for the resident necromancer.

Gazing upward, he soaked in the vision of the two shadowed figures as they shifted in the dull, flickering candlelight behind them. The Inquisitor was tapping her foot impatiently while whipping her head around towards the stairs every few seconds. He chuckled at her boundless energy. One would think being Inquisitor would be enough to exhaust anyone, but not Lavellan. Where she drew this immense power he honestly hadn’t a clue. Then again, it had been some time since his youth. He had forgotten how effective sheer willpower was for someone in their prime.

“Settle down, you little beast. What’s got you so wound up?” Dorian teased.

“Coffee,” the Inquisitor admitted.

_Ah. Or that._

“So you’re coming?” Lavellan persisted. It was hardly a question, despite the punctuation associated with it.

Dorian crossed his arms and rolled his eyes simultaneously before groaning, “Who else will be coming?”

“Solas.”

Raising an eyebrow and sighing audibly, he continued, “Boring. Next?”

The two of them could practically hear the older elf rolling his eyes at this statement.

“Iron Bull,” she shrugged.

Dorian visibly prickled. “ _Ugh_ , that boar will be insufferable.”

“That _bull_ ,” Lavellan corrected.

“That _top_ ,” Solas interjected bemusedly, “or so I hear.”

Both conversationalists felt their eyes widen and jaws drop simultaneously. However, while externally they were identical twins, internally they were worlds apart. Where one was overflowing with delight, the other was shriveling in horrible, putrid, disgust.

“ _Solas—_ ” Dorian began to protest.

Lavellan demanded a high-five at a distance as she shouted, “Whooooaaa! More like Sol- _sass_!”

Solas smugly obliged. _Elven. Glory._

Dorian frowned markedly before casting a curse through a vicious glare at the mage below. He sulked, “Oh yes, ‘ha ha’, very clever. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve decided to spend my time here instead. Ta ta, _so_ sorry, do make a few flowers bloom on my behalf.”

Winding down from a rather hearty laugh, Lavellan snatched Dorian’s arm as he began to walk away. She amended, “Oh, stop! Vivienne will be there too. I’m sure you’ll have plenty of opportunities for vengeance.”

This time it was Dorian and Solas’s turn to demonstrate surprise.

“Inquisitor, have you forgotten how to count? That’s five people,” Dorian questioned cautiously.

Lavellan distractedly picked at her sleeve and muttered with a quiet nonchalance, “Actually it’s eleven.”

“What!” Dorian exclaimed.

“Excuse me?” Solas added.

Now picking at her nails, Lavellan hummed in affirmation, “Mm-hm.”

“Who exactly is coming?” Solas inquired hesitantly.

This seemed to be the correct question, for their leader’s expression suddenly brightened, the corners of her mouth lifting impossibly high as she spun around dramatically and answered:

“ _Everyone_!”

This was going to be an absolute dream come true!


	2. Into the Woods

_This was an absolute nightmare_.

Blazing flames ensnared the forest as chaos rang through the smoking haze of charred, earthen remains. The clashing of blades rang in the distance while bursts of lightning sizzled and thundered over the deafening cries of ferocious warriors. Torrents of blood gushed down upon the smoldering battlefield, drenching the freshly fallen bodies of the brave and splattering those of the living.

And that was just on the way over.

No, greater terror penetrated the thick, miasmic atmosphere that now heavily weighed upon the shoulders of the Inquisition’s top combatants. The horror’s strength was so immense, the leader of this extraordinary military power found herself thoroughly petrified. What was this fearful creature, you ask?

 _Spite._ Directed entirely at her. And intense spite at that.

You see, the Inquisition had set off in the wee morning hours, emboldened by its numbers and illuminated by the rejuvenating, orange rays of dawn. It had been a beautiful and optimistic start to their journey. So where had it gone so terribly wrong? Well, with a few bitter quips here and multiple ambushes there, it seemed that some members’ irritation levels had become escalated. Add in a little dash of complete and utter confusion as to why their party required such an unusually large group, and the serene waters of camaraderie began to boil.

Therefore it came as a surprise to Inquisitor Lavellan that when she attempted to answer their burning questions, she, well, literally was getting burned.            

_Once the scouts and soldiers finished setting up camp, Lavellan deeply inhaled the clean, natural air of the Emerald Graves. Standing upon a single giant root, courtesy of the behemoth arbor beside her, she soaked in the scenery in a state of uncompromised bliss as she eagerly planned the day in the confines of her mind. How she had missed this!_

_Her reverie, as peaceful as it had been, came to an abrupt end as Cassandra placed a shining gauntlet upon her shoulder._

_“Inquisitor,” she called, “if you wouldn’t mind?”_

_Staring at the crumbling patience in her friend’s sharp features, Lavellan nodded quickly before gracefully sliding off the root and venturing toward camp, a noticeable skip in her step. However, the closer she came, the more difficult it was to move. The images and sounds before her spoke of tension and frustration. The harshness of it had bred invisible roots that snaked their way up her legs, holding her firmly in place._

_Though she had ceased all movement, her arrival had not gone unnoticed. As every eye fell upon her, Vivienne gave voice to the commencement of her annihilation:_

_“Inquisitor, **dear** , we have a few questions.”_

And so here she was now, firmly sat upon on the hot seat.

Cassandra, resting her elbows on her knees, scoffed as the revelation of their journey sunk in. “Let me get this straight,” she sneered, “there is no ‘urgent mission’ that ‘requires a larger party’ like the one _you_ described before we left?”

Lavellan shifted in her seat and cleared her throat before answering, “No.”

Unabated by the lack of detail, Cassandra cut, “And we are only here for a… a _glorified camping trip_?”

The young elf squinted her eyes and grinned uncertainly, “Well, I wouldn’t call it that—”

“And what _would_ you call this, dear?” Vivienne snidely interjected.

Lavellan folded her arms and shut her eyes, tilting her head slightly upwards. She sighed through her nose and returned rather optimistically, “An opportunity.”

“Oh yeah, whenever the opportunity to fight giant insects, sleep on rocks, and step in blue deer dung comes my way, I can’t pass it up either,” Varric countered sarcastically.

“That’s a bit unfa—”

“And let’s not forget the fact that there’s only _one_ tent,” Dorian added.

“It’s a _large_ tent—”

“What are we doing for food? Can’t help but notice we packed light for nearly a dozen people,” Blackwall questioned.

“Hunting! There’s plenty of game in—”

A refined, sophisticated laughter filled the air as Vivienne asked incredulously, “You’re not _seriously_ suggesting I prance about the forest like a fool?”

“There are other things you could do if that bothers—”

“Are we hunting rabbits? I don’t want to hurt them,” Cole fretted.

“No no no, we won’t—”

“Uh, so questions, right? What ya bring these tits for?” Sera frowned.

“Because it’s _fun_ to socialize with a diverse group of—”

“Okay, but why am _I_ here?” Cullen asked confusedly.

The crowd ceased their bombardment of questions to ponder this themselves. Why _was_ the commander of the Inquisition out frolicking in the field? Several mumbled similar musings with Sera in the background adding, “Was wondering ‘bout ‘im too.”

“You’re a member of this team too, Cullen.”

“Yes, well, why aren’t the other advisors here then?” He demanded.

Avoiding eye contact, Lavellan stiffened, “I felt that with your... expertise, you would be the only one to fully appreciate being out in the field.”

Cullen deadpanned, “Inquisitor.”

“Josephine said someone needs to represent the Inquisition while we’re gone and Leliana scares me.”

A quick exchange of understanding and acceptance spread amongst the camp in light of this information. Leliana _was_ terrifying.

"And everyone could use a little eye candy," the Inquisitor mumbled under her breath.

"What?" Cullen startled.

“Hm?" Lavellan ignored, “Are there any _more_ burning questions?”

Blackwall, still a bit perturbed by the lack of supplies, asked, “So what exactly _did_ we bring on this little excursion?”

At this time, Iron Bull and Lavellan exchanged side glances before answering in perfect unison, “Booze.” They then proceeded to calmly fist-bump. Despite the magnitude of this moment, it was fairly short-lived.

Crossing her legs, Vivienne responded, “As charming as this is, I believe I’ll have to pass.”

“Real shock, that. Miss Priss thinks she’s too good for the rest of us,” exclaimed Sera.

“Why, yes, darling. Are you _still_ struggling with that concept? It’s been ages since we’ve established this,” Vivienne sassed.

Sera shot up like a loosed arrow and glowered, “That’s it! I’m not spending another second with her!”

Iron Bull, who had been perfectly content up until this point, decided to contribute to the chaos by provoking Dorian, “You don’t like the tent, Dorian? I personally don’t mind an audience.”

“Oh for the love of—Are you serious! Must you air all of our dirty laundry?”

Disgusted noises emanated from Cassandra as she snarled, “Enough already! This is growing tiresome.”

“Tiresome? Like the six-day journey it took to get here?” Varric stated flatly.

“Yes, how long are we staying, Inquisitor?” Cullen reprimanded.

“Well I certainly won’t be staying any longer than this.”

“Go on! Get out already. Not wanted.”

“I’m getting hungry already.”

“OH FOR FUCK’S SAKE!”

Like the powerful shout of a dragonborn, all creatures in the vicinity were effectively silenced and forced to flee their lush green homes. As several colorful parrots darted through the trees, a turbulent wind whipped through the camp that served to only further enhance the Inquisitor’s fearsomeness as it brought with it a swarm of leaves and disheveled hair. Though it has become legend, it is said that miles away in this exact moment, Corypheus had quaked in his striped stockings and fashionable heels at the sudden disturbance in the Veil.  
  


* * *

  
Though the Inquisitor had effectively put her foot down, since, you know, losing her shit, she was still willing to compromise. Blackwall’s hunger and the incessant complaints over their sole means of shelter were the most easily remedied, after all. Needless to say, she, Varric, and Sera had set out to catch their dinner while the others went to work on reassembling the camp to accommodate an extra tent. And for those who had especially grated on her nerves? Herb duty. Because Maker and Creators know how much elfroot they’re going to need if another verbal fiasco like that ever graces her ears again.

As the three heroes trot through the foliage, the fruits of their labor dangling in large pouches at their sides, Lavellan gazed up at the canopy above. Beads of light shimmered like stars in the night sky, their brilliance speckling the ground below; a mirror image of the heavens and the earth. How could the others turn their nose up at all this beauty? Perhaps she should take them out for a stroll or a small hike? She snorted at the image of Vivienne in her heels wobbling through the uneven terrain.

 _Oh, who am I kidding, the woman would sooner set me on fire,_ Lavellan thought begrudgingly.

Upon returning to the camp with their spoils, the temporary hunters found their reception to be overwhelmingly positive. Well, really only Blackwall was ecstatic to see them, and by them, we mean the food. The young elven woman couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief at the contented expressions of her formerly distraught crew. Offloading their catch to the grizzled, yet lively warrior, Lavellan peeked at Solas who was setting down a rather hefty bucket of water.

 _Still on his own, I see_ , Lavellan schemed, _but not if I can help it._

“Solas,” she called out, “would you mind helping Blackwall prepare dinner?”

Straightening out and sauntering over, definitive purpose in each step, Solas replied, “Gladly. I trust Blackwall has no reservations with an elven palette?”

“Hah!” Blackwall chuckled, “As long it’s got meat in it, I couldn’t care less what we make.”

Smiling foolishly at the friendliness before her, Lavellan dared to add one more to this party, “Vivienne, why don’t join in? I’m sure Orlesian tastes could—”

Wait a minute.

Looking around the camp, Lavellan couldn’t help but notice that the Iron Lady was lacking a presence. That could only mean one thing: something was horribly wrong.

“Vivienne?” She asked cautiously.

“She left, Inquisitor,” Cassandra informed the bewildered girl as she cleaned her blade.

“What!” The Inquisitor roared in disbelief.

Following Cassandra’s example, Iron Bull tended to his weapon and elaborated, “I believe her exact words were, ‘Do call me should matters concerning the Inquisition arise.’”

Lavellan ran her fingers through her hair in frustration. This wasn't supposed to happen. What was the point of assembling a get-together if the participants refused to _stay_ together? Heaving a sigh from deep within her lungs, she stilled and regained her composure. “Fine. That’s fine. Dorian?”

Dorian, who had been organizing the herbs, called over his shoulder, “Don’t take this out on me. _I’m_ still here. And look! I haven’t even complained once about the dreadful monotony of this task.”

“Thank you, you’re amazing,” Lavellan simpered, “but would you mind helping these two with our food instead?”

Eagerly casting aside the plants, Dorian waltzed toward his new destination as he spurned, “Oh alright. But only because you used flattery.”

Dorian, Blackwall, and Solas. That was a fairly safe combination, right? Sure, Dorian seemed to squabble with both of them at some point, but perhaps their unified purpose would foster some form of fondness and familiarity? And for that matter… would the same strategy work for the others? Sunny disposition completely restored, Lavellan instantly targeted the dwarf beside her.

“Varric, you and Cullen know each other, right?” Lavellan inquired.

Varric nodded, “Yep, back during the good ol’ Kirkwall days. You know, before everything went to shit.”

“Do you speak often?”

“On occasion. The most we’ve talked was when Hawke was visiting. Hah, the poor guy couldn’t catch a break once she saw how good-looking he’d become. I’m not sure she ever really believed it was him.”

* * *

 Meanwhile, somewhere deep in the heart of Thedas, there trekked a lone, wandering soul. A howling wind tussled her clothes with a forceful show of power. Suddenly, as if alerted to some unknown presence, she halted in her step, an intense light burning in her narrowed eyes. Removing her hood, there stood the legendary Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall, an amused smile painted over her lips.

“Heh heh,” she chuckled, “who _was_ that guy?”

* * *

 Ahem. Anyway.

Lavellan laughed, “Well, all that aside, why don’t you take Cole and Bull and just hang out until I get back?”

“And just where are you going _this_ time?” Cassandra demanded with the patience of a saint. Oh sorry. I meant _im_ patience. _Im_ patience _._ Potato tomato.

“To wash up!” She revealed. “Actually, you and Sera should come too. It’s been awhile since we last took a bath.”

Sera, who had been particularly quiet up until this point, delved head on into the conversation, “What? You mean together? Naked bits and everything?”

“Mmhm,” Lavellan confirmed nonchalantly.

“Ugh, I think I’ll pass,” grunted Cassandra.

“Skinship is kinship, Cassandra,” Lavellan stated, reciting the words like a holy mantra.

Cassandra raised a finely waxed eyebrow at her leader’s expression and asked, “You’re… serious about this aren’t you?”

“Very.”

Sheathing her blade and standing, Cassandra sighed, “Fine, but this is the only time. I enjoy my privacy immensely, as should you.”

As the female trio descended down the slope in search of a nearby waterfall, they were completely unaware of the amount of male attention their discussion had garnered. In fact, every single male companion—except for Dorian and Cole, obviously—had ceased their actions in favor of ogling.

Adding seasoning to the now sliced meat, Dorian smirked, “Do you think they did that intentionally?”

Varric laughed, “I honestly don’t know, but I’m going to use that if I ever decide to pick up Swords and Shields again.”

Cullen planted his face firmly in his palm and sighed, “Maker’s breath.”

Bull could only laugh at the absurdity of his fellow teammates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. Vivienne was barely a blip on the radar for this one, but I'm just putting it out there that it's not a reflection of my own personal feelings for her. I think she's amazing. But, no matter how hard I tried to throw her in that tent, every elegant and sophisticated fiber of her being told me it just wasn't going to happen. You.. you do you, girl. You do you.


	3. Girl Talk

Pristine, white rapids cascaded elegantly to the world below, their waters splashing with a tempered violence and surging into crystal clear calmness with the dispersal of its fury. The reflection of light on the multitude of droplets as they danced freely towards the sky was a magical display of vivid colors that entranced even the most brilliant of creatures and the three women were no exception. Or they would have been, had Cassandra stopped complaining for _one_ second and marveled at the sight before her.

Yes, once the girls had located a sufficiently deep body of water, Cassandra had refused to bathe lest that supposed sacrifice involved a prior washing of clothes. Oh, and of _course_ they’d have to dry first, because Maker forbid she wear her spare outfit. It was far too _casual_. But then again, Lavellan supposed it was rather hard to strike fear in the hearts of, well, _everyone_ if you’re dressed for impending slumber.

Considering her circumstances, however, she couldn’t help but feel that was unfair. After all, she was the one who had been forced into pajamas the moment she became Inquisitor and not a soul shed a tear over her predicament. She could feel the silent scorn that befell the eyes of Dorian and Vivienne as they viciously judged her attire. The glowing radiance of her advisers’ intricate styles threatened to blind her with every glance she dared. And let’s not even discuss the scathing tongues of the Orlesian nobility as they gossiped in a flurry of hushed whispers.

 _I hate those pajamas_ , thought Lavellan, a dark expression eclipsing her visage.

But that was neither here nor there. As their damp clothes absorbed the heat of the sun, the three women had taken the plunge into the cool water in search of refreshment. Well, actually, only two had. Cassandra was still timidly wading in, introducing only small portions of her body at a time in hopes of adjusting slowly. The chill from the occasional gusts of wind served to only prolong her torture.

Lavellan laughed at her, “Cassandra! Just jump in and get it over with.”

Cassandra shivered, goosebumps coating her skin, “I will come in on my own time, thank you.”

The Inquisitor began to argue, but abruptly halted when she eyed the mischievous sheen of a certain elven rogue skulking sinisterly behind the Seeker. “Suit yourself,” Lavellan surrendered before submerging herself entirely in anticipation of events to come. One of them was going to be blindsided and she’d be damned if it was going to be her.

No sooner had she done so, Cassandra and Sera had come crashing into the water, their impact cushioned only by its density. Bounding to the surface, the Inquisitor cackled uncontrollably the moment she and the air were acquainted. Thousands of bubbles scattered along the surface, tickling her exposed flesh as the flurry gave way to the creatures below.

“I can’t believe you!” Cassandra roared, splashing her assailant with all the strength she could muster.

Sera’s signature laugh engulfed the entirety of the forest as she took evasive maneuvers.

“And you!” Cassandra cast a miniature tidal wave at the accomplice, “You just stood there and let it happen!”

Squeezing her eyes shut and cowering behind a compromised defense of only scrawny limbs, Lavellan squealed, “It was all Sera! Her will be done!”

Sera floated nearby and reproved, “You were taking forever! Better now, yeah?”

“That—That is beside the point!” Cassandra sulked, clearly unwilling to accept defeat.

“Pbbth!” Sera stated eloquently before fully immersing herself and floundering away.

Laughing warmly, Lavellan eyed the seething warrior with content. Despite the Seeker's fury, this was actually rather... nice. How long had it been since she last fooled around like this? Away from the expecting eyes of nobles and commoners alike, the Inquisitor felt as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Her actions would not being judged here. Feeling fairly liberated, Lavellan turned to her human friend and amended, “I’m sorry, Cassandra. I’ll give you fair warning on the next round.”

Cassandra huffed as she slicked her slippery locks back, droplets spilling down her sharp cheekbones, and stated, “Please see that you do.”

And those were Cassandra’s final words as she was once again dragged down into the depths. She immediately resurfaced and wiped away the wet evidence of her betrayal. Lavellan cried in feigned alarm, “Oh my, look out Cassandra!”

“Are you serious?!” She howled; a verbal testament to the enraged woman’s evolution into a terrifying beast.  
  


* * *

   
Here beneath the soft blues and white wisps of the Thedas sky, there laid a small, yet powerful elf that bobbed with the ebb and flow of the water supporting her. Soothing winds lapped at her bare body as the golden sun above replenished its warmth. In this moment, the Inquisitor did not feel like head of a gargantuan military force. In this moment, she was simply Lavellan, just another fleeting, mortal existence in harmony with the immeasurable cosmos that sustained her. Her present company had seemed to have also achieved this exquisite state of Nirvana as they, too, indulged in the rare quietude.

“Inquisitor.”

Until now.

With her ears effectively submerged in the water, the muffled demand had hardly registered, and so no response could be coaxed from her glistening lips.

“Inquisitor Lavellan,” the voice persisted.

Still no response.

Grasping the delicacy of the situation like the bundle of sensitivity and tact that she was, Sera gracefully slipped beneath the Inquisitor, a grand machination already in motion. Summoning all the strength her body could spare, the brazen elf jettisoned off the rocky bed below, and shot up like a carefully targeted projectile. While the impact was hardly explosive, it propelled the previously relaxed leader high into the air before she descended into a liquid embrace. Gasping, the afflicted woman wiped her face of both hair and water.

“Sera!” She scolded.

Lacking remorse, Sera merely pointed at Cassandra before returning to her lackadaisical swim, as if this was sufficient compensation for her recklessness. “It’s not my fault your big ears don’t work. That one’s talking to you.”

With a quizzical expression, the Inquisitor waded toward the Seeker who had apparently been _seeking_ her attention. “Sorry, you needed me?”

Cassandra half scoffed and half laughed at her remark as she sat in the shallowest part of the river, the floor below clearly visible in the light, “Hardly. I was just trying to strike up conversation.”

“Oh. What’s on your mind?” She asked with renewed interest.

Contemplating her next words, Cassandra peered languidly at the waterfall in the distance. “Is your relationship with Solas quite serious?”

Lavellan desisted all motion in response to the unanticipated question, the water around her rippling in various directions from the expunged energy. Perhaps she too should gather her thoughts carefully.

“What brings this up?” She posed, cautious.

“Many of us at Skyhold are beginning to take notice. You’re the Inquisitor. I have to wonder if this will impact your duties," she reasoned.

Although the Inquisitor could follow the logic behind this concern and understood her subordinate meant well, she still couldn't confine the small sigh that flowed from her. Sure, Blackwall could pine after Josephine, that wasn't a problem. And Dorian and Bull? Perfectly acceptable. The Right Hand of the Divine feels like reading a book of pure, unadulterated smut? Have at it. But the Inquisitor? Oh Maker _no_.

 _"A couple minutes for romance? Don't be absurd, there's a rift in the sky!_ _Corypheus is still out there! The Grey Wardens are hearing the Calling! A poor, terrified druffalo is out there all alone and can't find his way back!"_

Despite how frivolous Lavellan found the situation, she still valiantly attempted to explain the relationship between her and their resident Fade expert anyway:

“Well he’s—we’re… hm. I’m actually not really sure _what_ we are.”

“He shout ‘elven glory’ yet?” Sera snorted.

Lavellan glanced back at the mischief maker and replied shyly, “We haven’t gotten that far.”

“What? You’re still not bumping bits?” Sera swam closer, confusion prominent on her freckled face.

Lavellan shook her head, seemingly unperturbed by this line of questioning while Cassandra sputtered backwards in embarrassment.

“Nope,” she assured, “but he’s told me he loves me.”

Eyes sparkling and cheeks softly glowing, Cassandra channeled her inner romantic as softly colored clouds, bubbles, and flower petals dominated her vision. She gasped in unrestrained excitement, “That’s a big step!”

“I bet he said it all elfy like, ‘The Veil is lovey here.’” Sera teased as she placed her hand over her heart in reenactment.

Grinning at the performance, Lavellan conceded that it _was_ rather elfy. The mere recollection of the event stirred a bashfulness within her that compelled her eyes under hooded lids. Nuzzling her face into the safety of her arms, she watched small beads of water gently slide along her skin as they reflected a miniscule, inverted version of the world in her wake. _Ar lath ma, vhenan._ Silently mouthing the words, she brought two dampened fingers to her lips as if to revive the pressure, warmth, and intimacy of the fateful kiss they shared.

Cassandra sighed yearningly. “Love is so beautiful.”

Lavellan could not help but agree as she laid stretched in the satisfaction of both the sun’s radiating warmth and her lustrous memories.

“Okay, real talk.” Sera claimed as she interrupted the two women’s daydreams. “What’s the bit that gets _his_ bits up?”

Cassandra rolled her eyes and groaned, “Why must you soil a perfectly pure thing?”

“I can’t tell what’s more disappointing: the fact that I know this, or the fact that I want to share this,” Lavellan stated in disillusion.

Sera, now sitting crisscrossed and on full display without a single f— _care_ in the world, persisted, “It’s the ears, I’ll bet. The pointier the better.”

Rolling onto her side and mindful of the sharp, pricking rocks sinking into her, she answered, “Actually he’s all about the plunder.”

She paused for dramatic effect, hoping the two would grasp the hidden meaning in her choice of words. As confusion passed between their faces rather than a dawning realization, it became abundantly clear to the Inquisitor that she would have to unravel _this_ mystery as well.

“The _booty_.” She clarified pointedly.

Astonishingly, it was not Sera who shook with a jovial mirth, but the prim and proper Seeker. Lavellan supposed the human woman’s mental state was bound to crack what with the many inconceivable issues that came with associating with the Inquisition’s ill-mannered agents, but who would have thought the revelation of Solas as an Ass Man would be the tipping point?

“That’s so out of character, I don’t even know what to say!” The Seeker exclaimed skeptically.

Completely elated with the concept of her friend’s stoic and chiseled façade transmogrifying into, well, _marshmallow_ , the Inquisitor’s veins pulsed with a chemically enhanced exhilaration. She snickered, “Right? He _always_ goes for it!”

Cassandra grinned, “I guess older men know what they want.”

“Yeah, because they’re going to kick the bucket. Gotta get it before they die,” came the composed, and yet somehow brutal response from Sera. “Okay, who’s next? Your pick, elfy.”

“Hmm,” the Inquisitor wondered pensively, “what about Cullen?”

Cupping her own breasts and softly squeezing, Sera squawked, “That’s easy! Tits!”

“I would have guessed legs,” Lavellan smirked, her imagination running wild with a particularly lewd, yet fumbling, Commander as he ogled the fairer sex. _Well, hello there, it’s certainly a_ nice **_night_** _ for an evening. Perhaps we could get to know each other? You know, as friends? Or dare I say... **bosom** buddies? _

It was glorious.

Cassandra waved her hand dismissively, “It’s _everything_ all at once. Cullen is a former templar. The only thing he’s ever consummated is his skill with a sword. His sole preference at this point is _female_.”

For some strange reason, at this very moment, female dwarves and Qunari everywhere suddenly felt an uncontrollable urge to throttle someone.

“HA!” Lavellan bellowed much more loudly than she had anticipated, “Sorry that made me happier than I thought it would.”

“Who else is an easy one,” wondered Cassandra. “Iron Bull?”

“Everything.” The two women stated in a rather blasé fashion.

“Oh, be realistic. Are you telling me even dragons—”

“ ** _Everything_** ,” they answered again, simultaneously.

“Okay, how about Dorian?” Said Sera as she presented the next offering to the sacrificial altar.

“Wit?” Lavellan questioned.

“Or a mirror.” Cassandra said dryly. “Blackwall, anyone?”

“Boobs!”

“Tits!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to do a throwback to Aveline. It's always a nice night for an evening.


	4. Guy Talk

It had been quite some time since the departure of the only female presence at the camp, and the men had fared surprisingly well in their absence. Their meal for the night—a culinary masterpiece despite the differing tastes of its creators—laid steaming on several plates, arranged in a calculated and colorful aesthetic that could only stem from the resident artist. While the three chefs marveled at the delicious morsels in pure satisfaction, Varric busied Cole with tales of the world still unseen to his perceptive eyes. Cullen and Iron Bull, on the other hand, had committed themselves to manual labor in order to combine the various tables strewn about the camp in preparation for their feast—requisitions and potions be damned.

Yes, the men of the Inquisition were as capable in a domestic setting as they were in battle, and they reveled in their victory as the yearnings of women and men everywhere rang in the distance. As inevitable letters of Intent to Court were being scribed at this very moment, the men couldn’t help but notice something was amiss. Or rather, _missing_. Their leader, the Right Hand of the Divine, and Red Jenny herself were still very much gone. Which was especially worrying considering it had been over an hour.

“I know it’s said that women take forever in the bath,” Dorian complained, “but I never thought the choice of words was literal.”

Blackwall chortled as he leaned against the table, “Hah! Perhaps the amount of time is multiplied by the number of women.”

Grinning ear to ear, Varric shook his head. “If the female psyche could be explained by simple mathematical equations, we’d understand them by now.”

“Assuming, of course, all men were mathematically inclined,” Solas smirked.

Swinging his staff over his shoulder and securing it firmly in place, the mage strolled toward the center of the encampment with an asserted determination. For every grain of beauty that belied the Emerald Graves there existed treachery in equal proportion. Freemen, Venatori, Red Templars, giants, and demons ran amok in these dense, wooded hills. And though their presence was simply what the Inquisition called a Tuesday, it was their specific bloodlust for the Inquisitor--not to mention the fact that she was one man short of a full entourage--that was especially concerning. And let’s not forget naked, therefore lending a very literal interpretation to the phrase, “caught with your pants down”.

“Hah, so in reality, just you, me, and Sparkler over there would be living the dream.”

“Hey!” Blackwall protested, his face scrunched in mild offense.

Settling into a chair at their crudely constructed table, Dorian asked, “How exactly do you figure _I_ would benefit from this information?”

Varric shrugged, “You could capitalize on it. Sell your knowledge to lesser minds. Like Cullen.”

“I’ll have you know being a military advisor requires a great deal of mathematics!” Cullen argued.

As a gruff and wholesome laughter reverberated off the hardened rocks and trees, Solas marched onward in pursuit of their missing comrades. With each fluid step, he left in his wake the crunching of dehydrated leaves, the clinking of sleek pebbles, and, most importantly, the grating of the many gruesome scenarios involving his beloved. Though he was no worshipper of gods, he prayed that the wrenching of his heart was merely a fool’s errand.

“Hold it,” Blackwall demanded, “where are _you_ going?”

The company who had been so engrossed in their mutual ridicule instantly diverted their attention to the lone elf standing several paces away. Although he automatically tensed at the accusatory tone of his fellow men, his expression remained unreadable.

Gracing them with a dignified response, Solas informed, “To collect our friends.”

“What, without telling us?” Cullen asked suspiciously.

Solas sighed, hardly amused, “I was not aware I had to inform you of all my comings and goings.”

“No,” Cullen reaffirmed, “but considering their possible state of… _undress_ , I hardly think they’d be pleased with your arrival.”

“Are you suggesting my intentions are impure, Commander?”

“Well, you _are_ seeing the Inquisitor, are you not?” Blackwall posed.

It wasn’t that Solas hadn’t foreseen his peers’ attempts at thinly veiled envy—for he in fact _had—_ but he most certainly hadn’t anticipated a plot twist of this caliber either. How was this warden privy to such information? His relationship with Lavellan had been an exceptionally private one and entirely devoid of prying eyes. Every cherished moment of intimacy had passed in the seclusion of her quarters or in another realm entirely. However, that’s not to say Solas had actively pursued this level privacy; it had simply happened. After all, one could only experience rejection and neglect so many times before it molded them into a lonesome existence.

But that was a discussion for another day. What mattered in this very second were the cards he would play now that his hand had been revealed. Which was the better strategy: denial or admittance? Or, should he simply wave the issue aside altogether? How would Lavellan want him to act? What did _he_ want?  

“All the more reason not to overstep my bounds, wouldn’t you agree?” Solas reasoned. Though he had elected for a subtle truth, he regretted the words once they graced his ears. Matters of the heart were inherently riddled with complexities and he only hoped his decision hadn’t added another.

“Look, all I’m saying is that regardless of our actual purpose, we can’t expect them to be logical,” Cullen conceded.

Smirking, Solas sassed, “You forget. _I_ am an expert mathematician. I need only find the right equation.”

“Ugh,” Cullen groaned.

With this single utterance, the verbal onslaught between the two foes had reached a bitter, though triumphant end. Solas’s sharp tongue had dealt a fatal blow forcing the distinguished Commander to crumple over in defeat. As the man metaphorically bled out, the spectators—namely the dwarf and Tevinter—shared in a loud, boisterous laugh. Obvious rallying cries for the victor that carried the soul of his opponent to the great beyond.

However, regardless of the outcome of this battle, a bitter war still waged on. Blackwall had continued to argue in favor of sending a man of noble birth, a man who would never dare to corrupt the purity of a maiden, a man who would sooner demonstrate love unto himself before burdening another, a man who, perchance, had a big, burly, Qunari boyfriend.

So, Dorian. It was Dorian.

Yet, as foolproof and potentially chivalrous as this alternative was, the mage had ultimately refused on the basis of complete and utter lack of interest. Therefore, after considerable debate, Blackwall had only been won over by Solas’s explanation of the effectiveness of elven ears. Given that the Inquisitor was also equipped with such magnificent auditory capabilities, Solas could very easily communicate with her at a safe distance without having to lay a single eye on any of the women in question, thus ensuring no man among them had an advantage over the other—er, or preserving their purity or whatever.

And so, here Solas found himself alone hiking through the forest toward the sole water sources in the vicinity. Gauging with absolute certainty that he had reached their approximate location, Solas came to a standstill and opened his ears to the influx of sound around him. The musical waves splashed over him bringing with them a heavenly mix of diverse, ambient noise. Birds chirped in the overhead branches, halla danced playfully along the stream, and trees creaked serenely in the embrace of the wind. But among all of these noises there was one in particular that stood high above the rest on an exquisitely and affectionately carved pedestal. It was the hum of his heart’s effeminate laugh as it sang cheerfully into the surrounding peace. Relief encompassed his features and flooded his veins at the knowledge of her safety.

Though he could listen to this muse for an eternity, he decided her return was the nobler alternative. Speaking with an emboldened, though tender voice, he called to her, “Inquisitor. Are you well?”

A sudden shift in the water sprang to his ears as a light shuffling trudged slowly behind it. “Solas?” At her response, he could hear the scurrying and cursing of the women around her by the disturbances in the water and the distress in their tones. The Inquisitor acted quickly to remedy the situation. Soon, there was silence once more.

“I’m sorry, quite some time must’ve passed for you to come after us,” Lavellan apologized.

Solas eased, “I am simply pleased to know nothing came of our worry. You should know, though, that dinner has been prepared.”

“’Bout time!” Sera cheered.

“We’ll head back now!” Lavellan announced.

Satisfied with the fulfillment of his mission, the lone mage sought to spread the good news to his anxious comrades back at the base. The sound of shifting grass, though barely a whisper, broadcasted the commencement of his departure and hardly went unnoticed by the perceptive young elf. Seeking to halt his step, she cried, “Wait! Wait there, I’ll walk back with you.”

 

* * *

 

Some time had passed before the first visions of the female crew appeared before the lingering mage. Cassandra and Sera had effectively changed, what with the former donning her original armor and the latter adorned in a velveteen tunic with silk leggings. As they bid the man greeting, he pleasantly reciprocated despite his confusion at a missing member. Settling against the sturdy bark of age-old tree once more, Solas delved into his somber mind as he awaited the object of his affections.

As the two women fell well out of both sight and earshot, especially for Sera, a quiet rustling commenced from behind an impressive mass of boulder. The image that soon followed the disturbance was truly a sight to behold. Solas involuntarily clenched his jaw as Lavellan stepped into the fray, her lovely form illuminated by the sun. Her clothing consisted of a large, white nightshirt, a pair of white shorts, and dark green wrappings that wound their way around her feet and shins—a reflection of her Dalish upbringing.

Walking elegantly up to him, a sheepish grin masterfully sculpted on her face, she whispered an apology, “Sorry, Solas. I thought they’d never leave.” If it wasn’t abundantly clear from her enamored expression, her salacious tone left no sense of ambiguity. She had been hoping for an intimate moment. Though, of what nature, Solas admitted he was unsure.

He smirked, “I would complain, but I see it was well worth the wait.”

“Hmm, I’ve heard looks can be deceiving,” she teased. Her hand glossed over his wrist, its touch light as a feather. Taking his hand and guiding it to her cheek, she leaned into it as her eyes fluttered shut at the warmth emanating from his palm. Solas, mesmerized by her lovely visage, studied her to take in every minute detail. But though his eyes were transfixed, his tongue was loose.

“Wise words indeed, but I’ve always found that the vestiges of a _physical_ _reaction_ ,” he said as he slid his finger over her inviting lips, causing her form to tremble, “to be genuine.”

A faint blush coated Lavellan’s cheeks. As she aligned her bright, beautiful eyes with his own, he could feel the heat pulsating from her intense gaze, beckoning. Never one to waste time, Solas seized her head with both hands, pulling her close for an impassioned kiss. Lavellan gasped in surprise, but he made no sign of slowing his actions. His hands wandered down to her waist before drifting toward her thighs. The strength of his grasp revealed a dire thirst, a need that demanded satiation.

Losing herself in his touch, the world around her becoming a blur, Lavellan struggled to remain upright. She could feel her knees wavering, threatening to break this long-awaited contact. As if hearing her plea for salvation, Solas lifted her into his arms, wrapping her shapely legs around him. With a cascade of lavished affection stimulating every sensual nerve, Lavellan clung desperately to his garments as she writhed in pleasure. Though she fussed with each searing touch, she longed for more, her heart pounding against his chest.

She could stay in this moment for eternity and the Inquisition could end up in a pile of rubble for all she cared. But as eager as she was, the world and Solas— _yes,_ Solas—had other plans. Ragged breaths passed between them in a momentary ceasefire. However, the significance of this return to calmness only truly registered for Lavellan once she felt the tickle of the grass around her feet. Thoroughly perplexed at this development, or lack thereof, Lavellan’s eyes sought an explanation.

Smiling in apology, Solas sighed, “We should return to camp lest we become the victims of the others’ idle chatter.”

Lavellan looked downwards and to the side in quiet resignation. Ugh, he was doing it again. It seemed that every time they showered each other with their feelings, he would pull away and return to normal. It was almost as if he was saying, “That’s enough for now because I’m older and know better.” But it was never enough. If anything, it made her hungrier. She was just as starved as he was. But, as much as she hated to admit it, he was right. He was always right. Giving him a half-smile and a small nod, she relented.

“Lead the way.”


	5. Booze, Boos, and Byes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so stupid, but I ended up writing the "scary" story into the early morning hours and I somehow wound up scaring myself with my own made up story. That's a whole new level of idiocy I can't even begin to comprehend.
> 
> By the way, feel free to skip the vast majority of the horror story if you see fit. I would recommend reading the last paragraph at least to understand the humor that follows.

In the passage of several hours, many astounding events had taken place. The sun had set, the moon had risen, the embers of the campfire had been stoked, and bellies were filled to satisfaction. As astrological masterpieces hung over them like glistening jewels, the crew had experienced a relatively pleasant evening despite their earlier bickering. In celebration of this positive shift in mood, the party had decided to share in some elegant spirits while engaging in intellectually stimulating conversation.

"Would you rather shit through your mouth or piss through your nose?" Iron Bull philosophically inquired.

Groans of disgust echoed into the night sky.

"How about I... just kill myself and not deal with either?" Lavellan pleaded.

Iron Bull chuckled, "You gotta pick one, Boss. Unless you'd rather down your drink?"

"Ugh," she rasped, "Fine! Fine. _Fine_... piss out my nose, I guess."

"Census!" Iron Bull demanded. All of the other members came together to share their selections. After careful deliberation, it was found that pissing through one's nose was _indeed_ the much preferred choice by unanimous decision. No one took a drink.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Lavellan aerated the swill in her cup and grimaced. The Qunari concoction was more poison than liquor. She could literally feel her innards eroding from the liquid's sheer willpower alone. Dismissing the threat to her health, she picked the next victim and began, "Okay Solas... would you rather permanently join the Qun or be stuck in the Fade for the rest of your life?"

"Hey." Iron Bull protested.

"Pfft, like that's hard," stated Sera.

"I believe that was the point," Solas smirked. "It's a question geared specifically toward my preferences. She's trying to make me drink."

Varric grinned, "You could always lie, Chuckles."

Shrugging, Lavellan leaned backwards and crossed her legs. "Hmm, just how many drinks _is_ it to be caught in a lie, Bull?"

"That's two full tankards, Boss," he responded.

Feigning surprise, Lavellan gasped and cast a pitying look toward the apostate across the campfire. He eyed her knowingly, somewhat impressed with her charade and pinpoint precision. He couldn't tell if he was proud or regretful that she had listened to him so intently. "Two _full_ tankards! My!" She exclaimed.

As Cullen muttered a quick saving grace to Blackwall for not being the Inquisitor's gentleman caller, Solas looked down into the dark, menacing alcohol lounging in his cup. He recalled the quieter moments in which Lavellan had simply been a studious pupil, asking questions and eagerly awaiting answers. He had been more than pleased to share his wealth of knowledge, but drawing the answer from the depths of her own mind had been even more gratifying. She had been hesitant at first, fearful of disappointing, but she was well-suited for academics. To see the once timid creature now relentlessly skewering him was truly a wondrous sight to behold. Taking the bait seemed a fair trade for witnessing this progression.

"Is this even a question?" He challenged, "The Fade, every time."

Solas, save for Cole, was alone in his decision and bore his punishment with unwavering pride. Downing the liquid flames, he watched Lavellan grin with the others as they briefly discussed the horrors that lurked within the Fade. She never seemed more lovely as she sat partially bathed in both light and shadow.

But as mesmerizing as the Inquisitor was, Solas had vengeance to exact. "Sera. Would you rather lay with a spirit or a demon?"

The ungodly sound that vibrated off of Sera's vocal chords was beyond anything within the natural world. A multitude of frightening monsters scurried away at the haunting shrieks of agony that resounded from within the camp.

Solas could play this game all night.  


* * *

  
As the more unruly antics of the night ultimately died down with the wistful flames of the fire, the group found itself opting for more heart-pounding, gut-wrenching, and hand-holding forms of entertainment. Naturally. And just what, pray tell, was it? Scary stories. Cassandra was currently winding down a tale of blood magic gone awry—a situation by which the majority of our heroes had been traumatized.

"Agh! Said no demons! You deaf or what?" Sera fumed.

Shooting one of her sharpest glares at the squirming elf, Cassandra retaliated, "Excuse me if my _real-life experiences_ are too horrific for you."

Grimacing, Cullen acquiesced, "If it's all the same to everyone, I second Sera's motion."

"Someone else is more than welcome to tr—"

"Candle flickering, flashes, gasping. Heart pounds, 'No, no, put it out!' Darkness fills the silence. Then blood. So much blood." Cole generously delivered.

As the group stared at the spirit with blank or bewildered expressions, Cole returned their gazes with an intensity that seemed to be anticipating some sort of reaction. Taking pity upon the youth, Varric patted Cole's shoulder graciously while praising, "Good show, Kid. But, uh, next time maybe focus a little on developing characters and a plot _before_ you get to the good part."

With no further volunteers coming to the forefront, the group fell into an awkward silence that gave voice to the endless chirping of insects around them.

Finally, Iron Bull cleaved the lull in conversation, saving them from the clutches of boredom. "What about the one where the Ben-Hassrath is investigating a group of Tal-Vashoth but discovers _he_ was Tal-Vashoth all along? That one always sends shivers down my spine."

I'm sorry, we spoke too soon. Somehow, an even quieter silence was born from this attempt to end their suffering.

"...Yes, nary a spine escapes such a fate with that one," Dorian muttered sarcastically.

"I've got one," Cullen ventured. "It's something my sister used to tell me

_"Once there was a boy who lived in a small village with his eldest sister. Their parents had passed from illness earlier in the year, forcing the sister to work as a seamstress to provide for her brother. Because of this, the boy's days were long and lonely for his sister expressly forbade him from leaving the house. But children are curious creatures by nature, and so after a single month of this, he soon began to venture outside."_

"What a shit!" Shouted Sera.

Furrowing his brow, Cullen cleared his throat. Satisfied with the silence that followed his guttural disapproval, he continued.

_"At first, it was simply the yard, for what harm could come from playing in the garden? As long as he was inside by the time his sister returned, he was safe. When she did return, however, she would ask, 'Child, have you stayed put as I have asked?' To which he would reply, 'Of course, dear sister.'_

_Another month passed and the boy had come to know all there was to know of the yard. Soon, he ventured to the road, for surely it was not much further than the yard, and therefore the house. After all, what harm could come from playing in the road? Surely, from here, he could see his sister's return much better. And the child was right. When she entered the house, she asked, 'Child, have you stayed put as I have asked?' To which he would reply, 'Of course, dear sister.'_

_Yet another month passed and the boy had come to know all there was to know of the road. Turning to the forest yonder, he reasoned that it was simply an extension of the road, which was an extension of the yard, which was essentially the house. After all, what harm could come from playing in the forest? So the boy began to play and he learned of many different animals, insects, and plants. When his sister returned home, she would ask, as always, 'Child, have you stayed put as I have asked?' To which he would reply, 'Of course, dear sister.'_

_Again, another month passed and the boy found he could not come to know all there was to know of the forest for it was far too large. Because of this, he had not timed his exploration properly and soon discovered that his sister would be home before he could return. Running as fast as his legs could carry him, he soon reached the house and found that the door had been left open."_

This time it was not Sera who interrupted, but Cassandra. "Oh Maker, _of course_ it would be!"

Varric chuckled while Cullen raised an inquisitive eyebrow at her uncharacteristic outburst. "Seeker, if you don't mind...?"

Coughing and hiding her burning embarrassment, Cassandra shielded her face with her arm and urged, "Excuse me. Please continue, Commander."

_"Stepping inside, he found no one and so he shut the door, pleased that his luck had not yet run out. Soon after, his sister entered the home and bid him good evening before starting dinner. It was not long after that he heard a voice call to him from under his bed. He recognized it as his sister's. It said:_

_'Dear brother, come hither at once so I may know you are safe.' But the boy could see his sister through the doorway tending to the pot on the fire and he grew fearful._

_'Do not call out, dear brother,' the voice warned, 'for she will surely come. You must trust what I say and know that the girl you see is not your sister, but a giant spider under an illusion.'_

_The boy could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand up at this information. Though afraid, he asked, 'How am I to trust the words you speak?'_

_The voice answered, 'I know you have come from the forest, that you have not listened as I have bid. You have left our home empty with the door ajar for all to enter. I saw the creature transform from the window and I had only but a moment to hide under your bed. She must have lied in wait in for you, for she came only upon your return.'_

_But the child was unconvinced as the tale she spun could have been as ensnaring as a web. He replied, 'If you are who you claim to be, then surely you must know the words my sister speaks every night?'_

_However, before the voice could answer, the woman in the kitchen who appeared as his sister walked into his room and said, as always, 'Child, have you stayed put as I have asked?' To which he replied, 'Of course, dear sister.' And the boy was confused no more. He chased after her and spoke of the creature under the bed and the trap it had set. The sister acted quickly by wielding their father's sword. With the door shut behind her, a great racket was heard. Then, there came a loud, agonizing shriek and then... nothing. When the door finally opened, the boy saw his sister, victorious from the battle. All that remained of the monster was but a large puddle of blood._

_Returning the sword to its sheath, his sister asked the boy to clean the mess as she had grown weary from the fight. Though the boy found it curious that the sword had not been stained, he did her bidding. Once he had finished, he entered the kitchen and found his sister setting the table. And as she turned away, the light of the fire revealed several translucent strands climbing out from under her skirt to the ceiling where there sat a giant and elaborate web._

The End."

It seemed for an eternity, words simply did not exist. A terror unlike any other had wound its way around the hearts of many members of the Inquisition. Tears welled up in Lavellan's eyes as she desperately tried to blink them back. Cassandra, Blackwall, and Sera made no moves to draw attention to the hair standing up on their arms. Varric and Solas delivered approving nods to the former templar in appreciation of the tale. Cole was hiding under his hat and Dorian had sat a little closer to the people around him.

And what of Iron Bull? Well, he gave voice to their internal thoughts:

"Well, _fuck_."  


* * *

  
Despite her best efforts, Lavellan could not sleep after that monstrosity of a story. The horror of it all continued to plague her mind, filling it with disease until it amounted to nothing but a shriveled, rotted mess. Every snapping twig and rustling fabric was either a giant spider or a malicious illusion. She struggled to breathe with each new sound that penetrated her eardrums. And though she was wedged snuggly between Solas and Cassandra with Varric, Cole, and Cullen only a few feet away, their soft and gentle slumber only made her feel all the more vulnerable and alone. Why was she the only one completely unnerved by this story?

_Crack!_

Flinching somewhat violently at the interruption of her thoughts, Lavellan squeezed her eyes tightly and buried her face under her blanket, too traumatized to endure another second of her vivid imagination. But unfortunately for the poor elf, the darkness was the perfect host for such unholy visions.

"Vhenan."

Solas? Solas was awake? Lavellan could feel the relief wash over her as she struggled to dive into the safe haven that was his arms.

"Are you afraid?" It was barely a whisper, but she heard his firm, yet soothing voice clearly.

Peeking out from under her blanket, she found his face nestled close to hers, his elven eyes reflecting bright shades of green in the dark.

Though she wanted nothing more than to absorb what little comfort he could give, a part of her refused to admit to her disgraceful state and the weakness it implied. "Not... really," she lied, unconvincingly.

Solas hummed, unwilling to destroy the facade she had crafted in her defense. As ridiculous as it was, he still attempted to humor her. "I see. Well, I find myself somewhat restless. Perhaps the same is true of you?"

Glancing away, she nodded once, a slow and deliberate gesture. She begged it was enough to persuade him to continue.

"I have always found recounting stories in the language of my people to be exceptionally calming. Would you mind if I did so now?"

Moving a bit closer, Lavellan shook her head and said resolutely, "Please."

And so Solas began to weave together dreams and memories in an ancient language she could only partially understand. He spoke of people and places lost to the clutches of oblivion, their victories and failures detailed in equal measure, until the magic of these tales echoed as a beautiful lullaby that carried her weary soul to sleep. Lavellan's terror-stricken heart was at peace as it beat to a slow, tranquil tempo.  


* * *

  
How do you describe a typical morning? "Well," you say, "first you have to wake up." Of course. We all know this to be true. What do we see, generally, when our eyes first open? Maybe it's the little knickknacks in our bedroom. Maybe it's the face of a significant other. Maybe it's the morning light peeking through the curtains. This would be a very typical start to a morning.

It was a shame the same could not be said for our dear Inquisitor.

No, she had awoken in not a room, but a tent. And she had not awoken to a sight, but a sound. And there was no morning light, but a hanging darkness. You see, Lavellan had regained consciousness only to be cast in what she hoped was only a sinister nightmare; a sick ruse of the mind. But alas, it was not to be. Large, spiked legs pierced into her tent, crushing all beneath them and effectively ransacking the camp. Bodies scrambled haphazardly in the dark as they clamored to safety, the only light coming from quick bursts of magic. A horrible hissing and scuffling screeched all around just before enormous, dripping fangs lunged for the groggy elven girl.

As she rolled out of the way, a blazing inferno scorched the creature's face, promptly forcing it back. Through the flames she witnessed Solas cast another spell as he stood as a mighty wall between her and their foe. Creating small controlled fires, Solas brought much needed light for their human and Qunari companions. As the heavy cover of shadow evaporated, Lavellan saw the creature in all its heinous revulsion. A spider.

_A **giant** spider._

Lavellan would have been petrified by this revelation had she not be so enraged by the irony of it all.

Gripping her weapon with a sobered resolve, she leapt into battle with her allies at her side.  


* * *

  
What became of our heroes after the demise of the gargantuan arachnid, you ask? Well, other than the inevitable return to Skyhold, nothing much. With the majority of the camp destroyed or coated in gooey, putrid innards, there was little else for the inner circle to do—other than consider leading an exalted march on the Emerald Graves.

Despite their mental exhaustion, the return to Skyhold granted a much needed moment of solace. Having survived the trials and tribulations of the natural world, the party seemed stronger for it. During the long ride back, there was no arguing—well, no _angry_ arguing—and no complaints about their sleeping situations. After all, what brings people closer together than the prospect of being jumped by a spider in the middle of the night?

Now safely shielded behind this dormant colossus of a fortress, the Inquisitor couldn't help but feel somber. The purpose of this past journey was for everyone to grow closer, to gain friends rather than allies. Instead, the experience nearly resulted in their untimely slaughter. Literally. Needless to say, poor, miserable little Lavellan considered the mission a catastrophic failure of epic proportions.

Running chilled fingers through her hair, the Inquisitor resigned herself to this community's penchant for solitude. It was a vastly different world from her clan, but this was her home now. It would have to do. Sluggishly winding her way through crowded halls, the Inquisitor soon found her wayward feet treading a familiar path to the rotunda. The sight that befell her, however, was anything but.

At the center of the room, there sat Solas, Cullen, Blackwall, Cole, and Varric locked in what appeared to be a heated debate over a game of cards. Overhead, Vivienne was seemingly engaged in deep conversation with Iron Bull. Walking through the door behind her, Cassandra, Sera, and Dorian exchanged humorous quips, demonstrating varying degrees of wit.

Unable to fully grasp the images before her, Lavellan remained rooted to the floor. What was this? Some kind of hallucination? Was her failure too much for her to handle?

"Inquisitor," called Solas.

Her focus returned, Lavellan eagerly peered into the apostate's eyes. He continued:

"Would you care to join?"

"I'm... not sure," Lavellan cautioned, "is this a dream?"

As the others raised intrigued eyebrows, Varric laughed, "I'd say no, but someone's going to end up in their smallclothes pretty soon. _Cullen_."

The esteemed adviser rolled his eyes and pouted, "Not this time. If you hadn't noticed, Josephine isn't here."

Grinning, Blackwall gestured toward Solas and retorted, "I'd tread lightly. There's still a shark in the water."

Pulling up a seat between the two warriors, Lavellan surveyed her allies. Eyes shimmering and heart pounding, the young leader internally squealed at this turn of events. What a wonderful development!

At that instant, Dorian came sauntering up to the unsuspecting girl, a horrendous package of pure evil tucked neatly under his arm. "Ah, _Inquisitor_. I've been looking all over for you!" Thrusting the parcel onto the table for all to see, he announced, "I remember how much you enjoyed reading it, so I brought you your own copy."

As the party leaned forward and read the cover of the book, Lavellan felt her entire body instantly lit aflame. _Oh no_ , cowered Lavellan, the color draining from her face. It existed. It _actually_ existed?!

_1,001 Uses for Phalluses._

"No thanks necessary," Dorian mocked, "consider it gratitude for the  _wonderful_ adventure you generously bestowed upon us all."

The entire room erupted into a boisterous laughter as the victim of this gruesome assault desiccated into a crumpled corpse. In her final breaths, Lavellan couldn't help but notice the that glint of mischief in the eyes of her betrayer was very much present in those of Solas. The two had conspired against her, which ultimately meant they had collaborated. As friends. Like all of them were now. She would have been ecstatic had she not been so mortified.

As she sank into her seat and hid her embarrassment in her hands, Lavellan thought that maybe this whole "friends thing" wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HA! You thought I'd say, "There's a wolf among us," didn't you? It would have been amazing, but alas I made that rule that I wouldn't do anything meta like that. A wasted opportunity? Indeed. But at least my sanity is intact.


End file.
